14th Deadly Sin

CHAPTER 54

CONKLIN AND I brought Swanson and Vasquez into Interview 2. When we all had coffee in front of us and were settled in, I started by saying, “I can only guess at how rotten you feel. We need everything and anything that could help us with the Calhoun murders. Anything you may have heard or surmised about enemies, disagreements, contacts with informants, shady business dealings, a fight over a parking spot—it doesn’t matter how unlikely it might seem to you.”

Swanson stopped me from going on. He said, “We get it, Boxer. You ask, we answer. You need a handle on this, and we’re counting on you.”

Conklin checked that the camera was on, then sat down next to me, saying, “We’re recording this, just because.”

Vasquez clenched his fists and said, “Calhoun wasn’t dirty. He was a good person. He was a good cop.”

I nodded. And Conklin said, “Tell us whatever you know about him. We’ll ask questions as they come up.”

Swanson sighed and said, “Calhoun transferred in from LA Vice about two years ago with a good reputation. He was partnered with Kyle Robertson, who joined Robbery, don’t remember when offhand, but before that he was in uniform since the Flood. You should talk to Robertson. They were close.”

I nodded. We were seeing Robertson in a little while.

Vasquez said, “Calhoun was a good kid. He wanted to do good in the job. If I had to fault him, I would say he was a little bit overenthusiastic.”

“Meaning what?” I asked.

“He could be seen as not taking things as seriously as an older guy with more years on the job. Or maybe he wasn’t hardened, yet. Whatchacallit? He wasn’t jaded. Either way, Calhoun had a future on the force.”

Conklin asked, “How’d his mood been lately? Was anything bothering him?”

“I didn’t notice anything,” said Swanson.

“Did anyone have it out for him?” I asked. “Anyone he may have busted?”

Swanson said, “When I had dinner at their house last Wednesday, he was in a good mood. He was talking about Little League and how he and Marie were saving up for the boys’ college in a five-two-nine fund. Regular dinner talk. With photos.”

The interview went on for another half hour. By the time the empty coffee containers were in the trash, I had a few leads to follow up and no connections that would explain why Calhoun had been tortured or what anyone could have wanted from him.

Conklin and I met with the long-timer, Calhoun’s partner Kyle Robertson. Along with Calhoun, we’d met Robertson during the canvass after Maya Perez had been killed.

Robertson was maybe fifty, but he looked older. His face was heavily lined and his hair was gray, thin, combed over. He was eager to help, but could only say he was torn up by the killings. That nothing Calhoun had ever said to him would lead him to think he had anything worth killing him for.

“It’s a complete mystery,” Robertson said. “I can’t make a thing out of it.”

Conklin said, “Narco has been working some street crimes, looking for some cops who might be taking money and drugs off dealers. Could Calhoun have been a part of that?”

Robertson shook his head vigorously.

“He was just a regular guy. If he hadn’t become a cop, he could have been a firefighter or a high school coach. I never heard him talk about money. He smoked cigarettes, but that’s the only addiction he had. Ask me, this bloodbath was entirely senseless. Maybe the killers went to the wrong house and killed the wrong people. Crazier things have happened.”